QLFC Finals Round: It's the Little Things
by corvusdraconis
Summary: Finals Round for Season III of the QLFC. Last story of the season. [Severus/Narcissa] [HG/VK]: (AU) Severus Snape survived the Second Wizarding War, but his friend Lucius Malfoy did not. Lucius made him promise to take care of his family, but can either Severus or Narcissa move on? Or do they need a push?


**QLFC: Finals Round: A Sign of Respect**

 **Position:** Beater 1

 **Team:** Pride of Portree

 **Main Prompt:** lannistersdebt 's favourite pairing: Severus/Narcissa

 **Optional Prompts for Finals Round:**

2 (restriction) No using the word because

7 (Story title) (It's) The Little Things

9 (song) Hey Brother by Avicii

 **A/N:** The problem with OTPs is that it's really hard to write things that aren't in your OTP area. Gah.

 **Beta Love:** fluffpanda (who lost her map under a pile of all the things and then refound it stuffed in the coffee maker), the Dragon and the Rose (who keeps reminding me that articles are important), Whimsical Acumen (who found her road map), Sehanine (who puts the Brit back in, praise her)

 **Betas Under Duress:** Serpentine19, who puts all the spaces in a jar

 **Tense Nazi:** Moka-girl, who wishes to do the impossible and change English so it pleases her

* * *

 **It's the Little Things**

Severus Snape stared across the Great Hall as the students left the dinner hour meal. Years after the fall of Voldemort—who was written in history books as Tom Riddle now that his true lineage was revealed—life had continued. The only difference was there had been enough death to filter a measure of sanity into the Wizarding World and dial the entire Pureblood supremacy obsession back to a dull roar. Some had genuinely turned over new leaves, while others had simply become far more quiet about their true beliefs.

If there were any changes that Severus noticed the most, they were the changes found in Hogwarts. The students were far closer to each other than they had ever been during his schooling years; they were definitely showing more solidarity than they ever had since before the Second Wizarding War's ultimate climax. Children now sat with each other, ignoring their respective house tables; Minerva made sure that was properly encouraged before she left for a well-deserved peaceful retirement somewhere on the coasts of Scotland.

Minerva was never one to leave loose ends or tasks half-done, and her becoming the Headmistress of Hogwarts had not changed that about her. Having taken the mantle of Headmistress, she took it upon herself to train the next Transfiguration professor, namely one Professor Granger, having lured her fresh off the battlefield of the war. After completing that particular task, she had trained Professor Granger to be Severus' future Deputy Headmistress, much as Albus Dumbledore had done before her. It had given Severus the most loyal and effective Deputy Headmistress he could have ever asked for. He hadn't, but that hadn't stopped Minerva. It never had. No one else had wanted the Deputy Headmaster position. He couldn't even bribe Filius to fill in as interim Deputy Headmaster for him. No, he was stuck with what Minerva had brought to the table, like it or not. It was what he got for being suckered into reassuming his duties as Headmaster.

No one had wanted that position either.

So, for the second time, Severus Snape was Headmaster of Hogwarts, and again he had found himself surrounded by dunderheaded children who harboured a high propensity for blowing themselves up in Potions class. The new Potion Master had the honour of handling that. The newest Potion Master had been none other than Viktor Krum, formerly the highly-renowned seeker of the Bulgarian Quidditch team. Technically, Professor Krum was still playing Quidditch on weekends, but he had left behind the full-time commitment he once had.

Why would someone so skilled in Quidditch choose to come to teach at Hogwarts? Two words were the answer to that particular question: Professor Granger. Now, however, she was Professor Krum, so every time someone called on Professor Krum at the High Table, two heads turned an enquiring face to the speaker.

Viktor utterly adored the ground his witch walked upon. He opened doors for her, kissed her hand as though they were still courting, and generally made every student who wasn't in a committed relationship completely jealous. On weekends, he would return to Bulgaria to play Quidditch, dominate whichever team was opposing them and come back with a large bouquet of roses as he thanked her effusively for being his.

It was almost nauseating the amount of "Awwwws" Severus heard in the hallways whenever students saw the Krums together. He would have disapproved, but the marriage of Viktor and Hermione Krum had one particularly welcome side effect: Ronald Weasley wasn't constantly visiting Hogwarts in hopes of seeing Hermione anymore.

Evidently, there was a merciful god out there somewhere.

He had first begun to suspect there was one when he miraculously survived Nagini's multiple "love-taps" to his face and neck, but the elimination of sodding Weasley from his sight on the weekends had been worth every sappy exchange he was forced to witness between the Krums. There was also the fact that he was, unofficially, taking notes for his own reasons.

He had always been rubbish at romance, and, despite how nauseating it was, he silently confessed to himself that Viktor Krum knew how to keep his witch loving him every day as strongly as she had from the beginning. As much as Severus loathed to admit it, he had someone who had become important to him. He wasn't going to fly through exploding fireworks that burst into hearts or sweep her off her feet while riding a broom. He was far too old for those sorts of shenanigans. It was serious enough that he had a ring box stuffed carefully in the back of his sock drawer. There it lay hidden, waiting for him to scrape up enough courage to do something about his current situation.

As Severus returned to his office, he saw his desk was covered by the mail of the day, neatly stacked by order of importance by none other than Professor Hermione Krum. His usual tendency of apathetically ignoring his mail to the point where it threatened to collapse his desk had been thwarted. His Deputy Headmistress was far too effective at her job of keeping him properly on task. He privately wondered what Hermione Krum would have done with Albus Dumbledore. That old man could have tried the patience of a saint with his meddlesome and seemingly random way of doing everything.

Severus had always known that much of that seeming randomness wasn't actually random at all. Albus always, always had a plan. The sky could be falling down around him, and he would have still have had a plan. He would still do the impossible, move mountains, brave the inferno, and still be calm enough at the end to offer up his lemon drops as though those feats were really nothing remarkable at all. In the end, Albus had been defeated not by the Dark curse but by his haunting love and guilt for his long-dead sister. There had been nothing in the world the man wouldn't have done for his sister after she had died. Sadly, he had not displayed that kind of devotion to her while she had still been alive.

Snape brushed past the small table by the door and heard something clatter to the floor. Cursing, he knelt down and picked up the snake-headed cane that had once belonged to Lucius Malfoy. He placed it back on the hook by the door, knowing that it would find its way to some other random place in his office. It moved as though Lucius were still alive and placing it in places to thwart him and remind him of his promise.

"Take care of them, Severus," Lucius had begged him, his eyes and face haggard from the horrors of the war. "I'll be damned before I let the Malfoy line end with me. I will not let my line end with my family hiding away in a forsaken hovel praying they haven't been found. I've agreed to take the fall for them in exchange for their pardon. The Malfoy line will be untarnished. Whatever infamy that may come will end with me—I know Draco will see to it. So if my being condemned instead of my family will save them, I will do it. But," Lucius had paused, his face darkening as he had seemed to focus on something lurking in his mind, "I know I will not survive Azkaban."

Severus had known what Lucius had meant. Lucius had planned to take his family's dishonour with him to spare his family. There were those who tended Azkaban with grudges who would ensure that Lucius paid for his sins, real or imagined. The Dementors were gone, but they were not the only threats to life in Azkaban.

The hardened, determined expression Lucius wore had faltered. His resolve, while strong, had not been enough to completely erase his fear for his family's future. Severus had recognised the look: it had been the same look he had once worn when he had found out the Dark Lord was going to kill Lily's son and anyone who got in his way.

Lucius, in all the time he had known him, had never publicly made a show of support to Severus. It had been expected for Severus to stand on his own in front of others. Behind the scenes, however, Lucius had been the one to protect him from the hostility of Slytherin for being a half-blood instead of a pure-blood; he had given him his protection. Lucius had paid for Severus' supplies for school when his father, Tobias, had drunk away all of the family's money. Lucius had held him as Severus had cried that he had lost everything that had made his miserable childhood bearable when Lily had renounced him as her friend. Lucius had been the one to stand up for Severus, to present him to the Dark Lord. And on the eve of Severus' mother's death, Lucius had spent the night drinking with him until they were both stupidly drunk. They had toasted to his mother—Severus' last tie to what might have been love as a child.

He owed Lucius.

Lucius had taken Severus' hand and stared at him with raw emotion — something rare if not impossible to find on the Lucius Malfoy of old. "Please, brother," he had whispered, his voice a haunting shadow of its former glory. "Please."

Severus had been unable to do anything but nod grimly.

Lucius had clutched him tightly, his pale and almost skeletal hands clenching Severus' dark robes in a striking contrast.

That had been the last time that Severus had seen him until the day of his funeral. Lucius, as predicted, had died in Azkaban. His cane, which had once housed Lucius' wand, had appeared in Severus' office on the eve of Lucius Malfoy's death.

Severus had first kept it on the dresser in his chambers, but he would keep finding it in different places. At first he assumed Peeves had moved it, but the poltergeist was always one to gloat and made no mention of the prank. The cane seemed to move on its own, often causing Severus to trip over it while coming through the door or waking up in the middle of the night to use the loo.

The cane had been the start of it, Severus realised. Had it not been for the cane, and Severus' subsequent attempts to give it back to Narcissa for posterity's sake, they would never have begun their weekly meetings for tea. Severus both took care of her and checked in with Draco on a regular basis, making sure they obtained everything they needed while remaining out of the public eye and their inevitable judgement.

Every time they met for tea, he would hand her the cane. Every time, she would take it back with her, and every morning after, Severus would not fail to trip over it upon rising from bed.

Now, years later, Narcissa and he were more than just a little close. They had become far better friends than they had ever allowed themselves to be when Lucius had been alive. It wasn't that they couldn't be friends, but propriety in Pureblood traditions did not condone close friendships with another's wife. Politeness was expected, but closeness was very much frowned upon.

He had the ring waiting in the back of his sock drawer, and every week he would decide it was finally time to give it to her. Each time, he had always chickened out. But that endless road that continually beckoned him to discover its splendor was more than a bit terrifying to him.

Could Narcissa even believe in love after Lucius? She loved Draco dearly, he knew, but could she love another man after Lucius? Better yet, could she possibly love _him_? He was not a particularly attractive man. He was neither wealthy nor powerful in the social circles that mattered to most of Pureblood society. Most importantly, would Lucius have approved of Narcissa and Severus' growing intimacy? It was one thing to be close in the privacy of weekly meetings. The two had had spoken at length of the future, or what possibilities it could bring, but if he pulled out that ring and offered it to her, it would also mean that Lucius' death was well and truly real. It would mean that both he and Narcissa were ready to move on… together.

Yet, if the sky did come falling down around them, he knew he would do anything and everything to shelter her from it. She wouldn't even have to ask. He drew the line at dangling upside down from a broom with a rose between his teeth, however. He was far too old for that kind of romantic silliness.

As Severus sat down in the chair by his fireplace, he let out a soft sigh. One day, he would have to admit to himself that the ghost of Lucius Malfoy was not going to materialise in his chambers and curse him for laying hands on his wife.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When the Floo puffed green and Narcissa asked for permission to come through, he grunted his normal affirmative into the flames. Narcissa walked across the threshhold with her favourite teapot cradled in her hands. She gazed at him with a small, tight smile that had come to mean so much more.

"Good evening, Severus," she said.

"Narcissa," he greeted, lowering his lips to the top of her hand. "You are as stunning as ever."

Her blue eyes sparkled. He knew that while she had never said it directly, she loved when he complimented her.

They cuddled on the couch, talking about Draco's exploits travelling the current country of the month with his new wife, Astoria. They had wanted to see the world before having children, and Narcissa was privately very happy for them. Severus and Narcissa spoke of old times and the possible future.

Severus closed his eyes as Narcissa laid her head on his shoulder, enjoying his company as they gazed at the fire in quiet contemplation. He wished he'd put that ring in his pocket this time: he refused to get up and ruin the moment. He supposed it would have to wait… again.

Suddenly he felt a warm touch of fur under his free hand and a soft series of almost inaudible squeaks. Whiskers touched his fingers, and something smooth and cool was pressed into his hand.

It was Hermione. The pesky overgrown river weasel, like the otter Animagus she was, had always stuck her nose into everything. She had rifled through his sock drawer like a meddlesome pest and had found the ring box. As he felt her nose the box into his hand, she took his hand into her mouth and gently nipped him.

Severus winced, staring down at the river otter that was Hermione Krum, his most efficient Deputy Headmistress, and the witch who was, quite probably, his best friend.

Hermione tossed her head, pointing her nose to the ring box and then to Narcissa. Her bright eyes glared at him meaningfully.

Severus gave her a pained look.

She actually bit him, the little she-devil.

Severus slowly put his hand on her head, stroking her soft fur. He briefly nodded to her in assent.

Hermione gave a soft and definitive squeak and then bounced off into the dark shadows of the room with the kind of stealth that made him think she'd spent far too much time skulking around the school with bloody Potter in their glory days.

That night, Narcissa didn't go home, and for the first time in his life, Severus woke the next morning with a warm female body pressed to his back and arms wrapped around his waist. His ring adorned her left ring finger at long last.

As Severus looked up, he saw Lucius' cane laying on top of his dresser, the emerald eyes of the finely carved snake twinkling at him in the dimness of the room. He wondered if Lucius had managed to give his final blessing to his old friend and brother as well as the wife he had not been able to grow old with.

The cane remained on top of Severus' dresser every day after his marriage to Narcissa, no longer forcing him to trip over it at inopportune moments. It seemed that wherever Lucius was in the afterlife, he was content that his wife would not grow old alone. Perhaps, too, Lucius had also taken care of his oldest and dearest friend much as he had one in life. Severus knew that, somewhere, Lucius was smiling smugly down upon them.

-o-o-o-o-o-o- _FIN_ -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 **A/N:** I've never written Severus with Narcissa before. I hope it was enjoyable, lannistersdebt!


End file.
